


shot in the dark

by TheCoasts



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Mentions of past-abuse, it’s happy i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCoasts/pseuds/TheCoasts
Summary: “it’s there, lying next to her on a hard mattress and sharing a pillow that she knows where her solace is. it’s holding her partner’s hand and sharing her warmth.”





	shot in the dark

They find themselves on the roof one night, overlooking the city from their spot on blue and white blankets.

“You remind me of those,” Blake points to the night sky above them, and Yang looks up.

“The stars?”

Blake hums. “You shine the brightest in the dark,” she starts. Her voice softly carries her words to Yang's ears. “And everyone sees you, and they all want you for themselves.” Her eyes don’t leave the bright dots. “But you belong up there, and we can only watch as you burn intensively.” Yang's hand finds Blake's. _You_   _belong_ _up_ _there_ _too_ , she wants to say. _No_ , she tells herself. Blake belongs everywhere; and she belongs wherever Blake is.

 

 

She can avoid the stares but blocking out the sounds reveals itself to be quite tricky, and the familiarity of those remarks find its roots into her head, awakening somber memories and sending her mind into a tumultuous chaos. But like a tidal wave; unforgiving, strong, fast, Yang’s hand shoots out to reach for hers. She sees the faces of the strangers around them change, and this time she shares the hard looks with Yang—and what they symbolize.

“I‘ve got you,” Yang says, her tone as cold as their surroundings and as sharp as steel. She doesn’t flinch, though. She knows that voice isn’t for her, the idea doesn’t even cross her mind. Yang touches her like she would a star, and she feels the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “I always do.” She always does, and she always will, she thinks and she gestures for the others to keep walking; instinctively, as if they had been wired to do that all of their lives, they had placed themselves around the two partners. Far away that they could talk semi-privately, but close enough that no one near them would dare to attempt anything.

“I’m used to it,” Blake states, and she’s immediately cut short by Yang. “I know, but that doesn’t mean they should have the liberty to do it. You’re the bravest person I know.” She offers her a genuine smile. “But I wish you didn’t have to be.”

Her eyes flash red over her shoulder, and she hears hurried steps behind her. “See,” Yang winks at her. “They’ll have to get used to that.”

And she swears that Blake’s laugh is the most delicate sound she’s ever heard, the melody of it crafted by instruments she could never name. She tells herself that she’d scare away a million of arrogant atlas citizens if it meant getting that reaction out of Blake, for her happiness is all she’s ever wanted.

 

 

Her fingers follow the trail of scars on her face. They’re not visible, she knows. But they’re here. She feels them, faint lines engraved into her skin, the memories of how she’s gotten them still clinging to the surface. They’re old now but the feeling isn’t; it’s raw and insulting. Mean. She wants to scream, lash out, but something weights her down against the mattress. She sucks in a breath as Yang raises her head.

“I can hear you thinking,” she grumbles, her voice quiet and raspy at the same time, still half-asleep.

“I can’t sleep,” Blake murmurs. Yang’s hand goes to her cheek, meaning to caress it; Blake almost flinches. It’s an almost and still, it makes Yang worry. Her eyes fully open now, she stares at Blake with a concerned look.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, but is quickly cut off by fingers intertwining with hers.

“It’s okay.”

 _It’s not, I can see it, I want to fix it,_ Yang wants to say. “You’re safe now,” she croaks out instead. And Blake knows. Yang embodies strength, as she told Sun; and when they were on that bridge, comforting each other mere moments after Adam’s death — _murder_ ; her mind screams. _no_ , she shouts back into the void— she recognized Yang as safety. It’s there, lying next to her on a hard mattress and sharing a pillow that she knows where her solace is. It’s holding her partner’s hand and sharing her warmth.

“Can I?” Yang asks tentatively, and this time Blake is prepared, nodding her affirmation.

Her hand brushes against Blake’s skin, and she feels her shuddering under her touch. “How did you get this one?” And Blake tells her. She tells her of raids and training, of sparring sessions, of initiations that singled out the weak. Yang is attentive to each and every word that pushes past her lips, her fingertips observing the relief of the scars, tracing them like she’s painting Blake’s story on a canvas, the watercolor of her life expressed in sharp cuts and hollow marks on her skin. Her hand trails down, and she hovers above the criss-cross shaped one at her hip. She examines it and raises an eyebrow. Blake understands immediately the silent question being asked, and she takes a deep breath, settling herself into some kind of calm attitude. She narrates her life, placing herself as someone exterior from the story, willingly acting as a stranger in order to distance herself from what had happened. She tells her of the times where Adam was sweet, caring, honest; she draws the comparisons with all the time where he had belittled her, reduced her as nothing but his property. His words, his actions and his faint apologizes all meddled together at some point, and by the time she escaped, he was nothing but a somber memory of the man he had been. Yang listens, hanging to every word she speaks, her mind soothing the wave of anger she feels towards a man that was no longer. “I told you his power comes from control,” she says and Yang acquiesces. “He made it seem like I had a choice, and that we were partners. But every time I challenged one of his ideas, he’d be quick to remind me who was in control.” She feels tears welling up in her eyes. “Adam didn’t love me,” she continues. “He was just in love with the idea of owning me.” Yang bristles internally. His death was still fresh on their minds, and they could almost still smell his blood on their hands. Yang draps her arm across Blake’s stomach, brings her to her chest, impossibly close as she holds on. “I’ve got you,” she says. Blake doesn’t respond, instead just nuzzling herself into the crook of her neck, and Yang presses a kiss to the side of her head.

 

 

“I’m not the one holding her, usually, but;” she stops herself. The air feels cold but her heart isn’t. “She loves listening to my heartbeat.” The moonlight seeps into the room, basking them, their shadows still on the white walls of the seemingly frozen palace. Weiss hums, quietly, distantly; as if the entire world would wake if she made a sound a frequency too high. “She once told me it keeps her grounded in her sleep.”

“Are you still scared?” _That she might still leave_ goes unsaid, but the words still buzz through their minds, quiet yet resolved.

Yang glances down, eyes resting on the sleeping form of the faunus tucked against her chest, and she smiles.

“No.”

 

 

“The future is made of opportunities,” she grins.

“Good,” Blake states simply. Her ears twitch slightly and Yang’s gaze is momentarily drawn to them.

“Good?”

Blake takes another step towards her, closing the distance between them. “Good,” she repeats. “Because that means we will have plenty to choose from.”

And Yang smiles at the implications. She thinks of her home, of her family; she slowly comes to the realization that Blake is both.

“You’re my future,” and she knows she spoke the words out loud when she notices Blake blushing. A shot in the dark.

“And you, mine.” But it hits home.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks sammy for the few pointers... 12 hours to go guys!


End file.
